


Magic, Mayhem, and Spies

by kmkatt_avenger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, BAMF Q (James Bond), F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not SPECTRE (2015) Compliant, Oblivious Q (James Bond), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive James Bond, Post-Skyfall, SPECTRE What's SPECTRE?, When I Say Alternate Universe I Mean It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:13:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28172217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmkatt_avenger/pseuds/kmkatt_avenger
Summary: Quinn WInfield is both MI6's Quartermaster and a wizard. Funnily enough, having magic doesn't make managing a certain blue-eyed Double-0 any easier. Quinn's doing alright keeping his magic out of his professional life, until a field assignment blows it all to hell.
Relationships: Alec Trevelyan/OFC, James Bond/Q
Comments: 12
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU of both the Craig Bond films and Harry Potter. Potterverse characters will NOT be their canonical selves - I'm borrowing what I like from JKR and modifying what I don't. One major difference is that Voldemort never happened. There will be other differences. 
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely Christinefromsherwood. Thank you!

Quinn exited MI6’s headquarters, ready to head home after a long day. He’d pulled 007’s arse out of the fire in Bulgaria and arranged for 004’s emergency extraction from Belize. Quinn walked down to the nearest alley, turned down it, and Disapparated. He reappeared a second later inside his flat’s entryway. Alan and Rowena came running out of the bedroom to greet him, meowing loudly. Quinn knelt, scratched their orange and black heads, then proceeded to the kitchen.

“What shall we have for dinner?” he asked the cats as he opened the fridge and peered inside. Containers of various kinds of takeaway sat inside. “Kibble for the two of you of course, and Indian...Chinese...sushi...or pizza for me?” as Quin rifled through the containers.

On closer inspection, Quinn pulled the sushi from the fridge and binned it. Settling on the Indian takeaway, the young inventor opened the microwave and set the leftovers to heating. He leaned against the counter and closed his eyes, letting the day’s stress drain away. At Rowena’s insistent meowing and Alan’s headbutt against his calf, Quin slitted his green hazel eyes open.

“I suppose you two fuzzballs would prefer it if I actually fed you, instead of just talking about it?” Quin pulled out his wand and Summoned the cats’ dishes and kibble over, and appeased his furry overlords.

The microwave finished with Quinn’s dinner and sat down at the counter bar to eat. He relaxed as he ate, enjoying the solitude of the flat. Moneypenny and Tanner had tried to convince him to have a pint with them, but Quinn had wanted to get home.

‘And who wouldn’t, after the day I’ve had?’ Quin thought. It had started with a phone call at half two that morning, his night shift supervisor needed him to come in as Bond’s mission in Sofia had gone seriously sideways. After that fire had been put out, 004 had been seriously injured in a shoot-out and needed to be evacuated. Fortunately, Medical predicted that the agent would make a complete recovery. Even better, the agent’s cover was intact which would allow it to be reused at a later date.

Quinn hummed while he ate, contemplating his plans for the weekend. Barring any emergencies, he’d work on some personal projects, catch up on some chores - laundry and grocery shopping, if the state of the fridge was any indication - and maybe finish the book he was reading. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it wasn’t quite eight o’clock and decided that he’d message his foster sister, Kit. Perhaps she’d be interested in watching a movie or two with him.

Quinn put his fork down and removed his mobile from his trouser pocket. The brunet opened up his messaging app and typed:

**Up for a movie night? Your choice of film.**

Quinn sent the message and received a response a moment later.

**Certainly, I’ll bring the ice cream. See you in 15.**

Knowing Kit to be good on her word, Quinn stood up, pocketed his mobile, and flicked his wand at dishes. They zoomed over to the sink, where the tap turned on and the sponge started to clean them. That done, he turned and walked into the living room, wanting to check that the cats hadn’t left too much fur (or worse) on the couch. Finding the couch relatively fur-free (and lacking other surprises), Quinn straightened the cushions, pillows, and throws.

Rowena and Alan, having finished dinner, immediately claimed the best spots on the couch for a post-feeding wash. Rolling his eyes at the cats, Quinn moved to turn on the telly and launch the streaming service.

Precisely fifteen minutes later, there was a pop followed by a knock on the door. Quinn checked the video feed by the entrance (one of many additional security features for his flat) and seeing his russet-headed sister outside, opened the door.

“Long day?” Kit asked by way of greeting. Quinn stood aside to let her enter. Kit headed straight for the kitchen, where she deposited an insulated shopping tote on the counter. Reaching into it, Kit pulled out two pint tubs of ice cream - chocolate fudge brownie for her and chocolate mint chip for Quinn.

“I’ve had longer,” Quinn replied, “but any day that starts with a call at half two in the morning isn’t going to be short or particularly good.”

“Agreed. Does Indiana Jones work for you?” Kit grabbed a pair of spoons from the drawer, picked up her ice cream, and plopped her butt on the couch. Quinn grabbed his ice cream and followed.

“Indiana Jones is fine. _Raiders_ or _Last Crusade_?” Quinn settled himself more deeply into the couch and reached for the remote. Kit curled herself securely into the couch’s corner before answering.

“ _Last Crusade_. You know I never turn down Sean Connery.” Quinn huffed a short laugh and queued up the movie. They’d gotten to the point in the movie where Indy was escaping from his office when Kit asked, “So, aside from the early wake-up call, how was your day?”

Quinn looked down at his one-third empty ice cream carton and considered his answer. Kit knew what he did for a living but she didn’t have the clearance for him to tell her everything. Fortunately, Kit understood this and was clever enough to read between the lines.

“I had to put out fires on two separate projects today. One of them was almost complete and I managed to wrap it up. The other is still on-going but was almost sunk today.”

“Any long-term consequences?”

“No, thankfully. Though I wish I knew how the second one went sideways. None of the information we had indicated that what happened today should have even been a possibility.”

“Then it sounds like the info was either incomplete or faulty.” On screen, Indy bashed in a library’s floor.

“No, the intel on Dimitrov was good,” Quinn replied, a bit more sharply than intended; Kit’s comment had revived his earlier annoyance at the possible intel failure.

“Dimitrov? Not Alexi Dimitrov?” Kit asked, sitting up and dislodging Alan from her lap. The ginger tabby stalked off, clearly miffed at being disturbed.

“Noooo...why do you ask?” Quinn responded, turning his head to get a better look at Kit.

“Alexi Dimitrov is one of the higher-ups in the smuggling ring we’ve been tracking. Some of the things they’re trafficking are really dangerous - Devil’s Snare seedlings, Runespoor eggs, Venomous Tentacula seeds, Ashwinder eggs. They’re also not above using illegal curses on those who get in their way.”

“Having trouble pinning them down?” Quinn asked, pausing the movie, so he could give her his full attention.

“Yes!” Kit let out a frustrated huff. “Dimitrov’s either a Muggleborn or from a mixed family - he’s very comfortable moving in the Muggle world. I’m starting to think that he’s using that connection to facilitate his group’s activities - communicating via Muggle means and using Muggle transportation networks to move the goods. If that’s true, then Dimitrov’s got a serious leg up on us; the Secrecy Statute means that most wizards are technologically ignorant and we don’t have the manpower or authority to investigate Muggle transportation networks.”

Quinn studied his sister closely, noting Kit’s extra-unruly hair, the slight tightness around her full mouth and mismatched eyes, the way her cardi didn’t quite match the stripes in her blouse, and said “That’s worrying...it would be a serious breach of the Statute. What does Sirius think?”

“That I’m probably right, but I haven’t any solid evidence, so we can’t go to the department head for more resources. Until I get that evidence or Dimitrov and his cronies cause a blatant breach of the Statute, I’m stuck.” Kit flopped down onto the couch. “Could we watch Indy and not talk about work? I need to see something where the bad guys get what they deserve.”

“Sure. Would you like to stay the night?” Quinn offered.

“Thank you, yes. If I go home, I’m just going to wind up scouring the case files, looking for something I’ve missed.” Kit answered with a tired grin. Quinn resumed the movie, thoughts niggling at him. The men sent after Bond had arrived rather quickly and how had they known that 007 would be at that warehouse anyway? Bond knew how to sweep for bugs and the jammers he’d supplied definitely worked. Quinn was also the only person Bond had told of his plans to investigate that warehouse at that particular time. There were also a few unusual remarks in the reports received prior to Bond going out that Quinn had dismissed, thinking the agent supplying them had misheard their informants’ statements. He’d go back over those reports on Monday. Besides, Dimitrov was a very common Bulgarian surname, certainly Alexi was not related to Stanislav Dimitrov.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Q has a rather aggravating Monday. Also, a certain spy makes his appearance.

Q’s good mood from the weekend didn’t last long upon arriving at MI6 on Monday. He’d barely entered Q-Branch when R informed him that M wanted to see him, immediately. Q sighed, dropped his computer bag in his office, and headed for M’s office.

Q offered Moneypenny a smile when he entered the outer office. With a nod towards M’s door, he asked “Any idea what M wants to see me about? R didn’t know anything more than M wanting to see me yesterday.”

“I’m not certain, but he came in early and requested all of the files for Bond’s mission. Probably wants to discuss changes to the mission parameters.” Moneypenny lifted the receiver for her office phone and let M know that the Quartermaster had arrived. “Good weekend? You don’t have that neglected house plant look anymore.”

“It was restful and precisely what I needed,” Q replied, rocking slightly on his feet. He wondered why M had wanted those files - mostly likely to see if there was an overlooked explanation for how Dimitrov’s men had known to ambush Bond at the warehouse. The opening of M’s office door pulled Q from his musings.

“Ah, Quartermaster, do come in,” M pulled the door open completely and stood aside. Q entered M’s office and sat in the indicated chair. M rounded his massive oak desk and sat.

“I’ve been reviewing the intel for Bond’s mission and noticed some...interesting statements in the reports. Things about persons of interest suddenly disappearing while being tailed, odd flashes of light, strange scorch marks, unusual interference with surveillance equipment. Then there was the incident at the warehouse on Friday. Q, are you certain that the information we have is accurate?” M said.

“As certain as it’s possible to be in our business,” replied Q, shifting in seat. He was beginning to think that he wasn’t going to like the outcome of this conversation. “I’ll admit to being concerned about Friday’s events. I was planning on reviewing the files and footage today.”

“It seems to me that the Dimitrov organization has access to some sort of experimental technology. I want someone on the ground with a stronger tech background than 007.” M declared.

“Certainly, M, I can have R or Tamal head out today.” Q replied, growing more uneasy.

“That won’t do, Quartermaster,” M rejoined, shaking his head, “I want our best out there, which means you. Please give R your endorsements and make whatever other arrangements you consider necessary for a week long trip. Your flight leaves at 1430.”

“Sir, R and Tamal are capable of providing 007 with the necessary in-field support and Q-Branch won’t run itself.” Q argued, given the flight’s departure time he wouldn’t have time to stop by Medical for his usual prescription.

“Neither R nor Tamal have as broad a background as you do and R is certainly capable of running the branch for a week. It’s not as though you’re going to be unreachable.” M shot down Q’s objections. “We don’t have a clear picture of what sort of tech they have so I want you assisting Bond.” M’s direct stare and slight frown told Q that further argument would be useless.

“Understood, sir. Is there anything else? If not, I need to get back to Q-Branch so I can be ready for the flight.”

“No, that was all, Q. Take a driver from here to your flat and then to the airport. I’ll have Moneypenny send Bond the details of your flight; he should meet you at the airport. Good luck, Quartermaster.” Both men stood and shook hands; Q hoped that M wouldn’t notice his slightly sweaty palms.

Q exited the office, gave Moneypenny a quick nod, and headed back to Q-Branch, his mind already on what he needed to do. First, get R up to date on all current missions and make sure that she had the proper authorizations. Second, review the most recent updates from Bond and put together a kit for himself. Third - shite - 009 was due in at 1030 for her kit. He’d have Tamal handle that. Q also needed to let his section heads know that he would be in the field and to go to R with any problems. Those were his immediate responsibilities; once he got home he needed to pack and gather up the cats. Q’d have to see who was available to watch Alan and Rowena. He knew he couldn’t ask anyone from 6 - there wouldn’t be enough time for him to sufficiently Muggle-proof the flat.

The lift dinged, pulling Q out of his thoughts. He exited, already down in the Q-Branch bunker. Q scanned the workstations, stopping once he spotted R’s lime-green hijab. The Quartermaster called out, “R? My office please.”

Not waiting for his second, Q entered his office, set the smart-glass walls to opaque, and sat down heavily in his office chair. As R entered, Q told her, “Shut the door and have a seat.”

At R’s somewhat distressed look, Q hastened to assure her, “You’re not in trouble. M’s decided that the field is where I’m most needed at the moment, so there are things that I need to go over with you.”

R relaxed at that and asked, teasingly, “So that frown on your face means there’s an airplane in your future?”

“Yes and as it leaves this afternoon, may we get going? There’s a fair bit of information to cover,” Q responded, a bit more sharply than intended. R nodded and they got started. When she left about ninety minutes later, Q asked her “Would you please tell Tamal that I need him to cover 009’s kit-out? I’m available if she gives him any grief.”

“Sure, Q. Have a safe flight.”

Q opened his email and composed the message for his section heads. That done, he called up the files for Bond’s mission, so he could decide what equipment to bring. Q made a list of the equipment he needed - more sensitive microphones and cameras, his sidearm, extra clips, a stronger jammer, a field chemical analysis kit. Done, he rose from his desk to begin gathering the items, when R stuck her into the office.

“009’s demanding that Tamal add some prototypes to her kit. She won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” R reported, slightly winded. Q sighed, even more than Bond, he’d really like to send this particular agent out into the field with a water pistol and a ball of twine.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” he replied. This was going to put him behind, Q just knew it.

He’d been right - getting the situation with Tamal and 009 settled had put him forty-five minutes behind schedule. The quartermaster now had to rush his packing if he wanted to make his flight. M had meant well by assigning him an MI6 driver and car, but that Muggle mode of transportation had cut further into his time. Worse still, his cats’ usual sitters were unavailable.

Q now stood in front of his opened bedroom closet, reaching for his suitcase. He put his hand on his usual black duffle, but reconsidered and pulled out the cobalt blue and pale grey leather case his foster parents had given him. Q set the case on his bed and began packing. Flicks of his wand sent clothes from the closet and dresser streaming into the case. That done, he went to get the cats ready.

Ten minutes later, Q was ready for the airport. He grabbed his things and headed back out to the waiting MI6 car. Q deposited his luggage into the boot and settled himself onto the backseat.

At the airport, the Quartermaster made his way through security, checked in, and waited for his flight to board. Q tried not to give in to his rising anxiety; it always seemed like  _ something _ happened when he flew. He’d been subjected to numerous delays, crying or unruly children, lost luggage, even serious accidents. On one particularly memorable flight involved the first three.

At last, his flight boarded. Q stowed his bags overhead, settled into his business class seat, and semi-listened to the flight attendant’s safety briefing. He closed his eyes and tried to relax as the plane taxied and took off.

Four and a half hours later, Q was working his way to the pick-up area of the Sofia airport. He was in desperate need of a cup of tea and some Panadol. His bad luck with flying had struck again; the flight had included a family with both a fussy infant and a crying toddler.

Reaching the pick-up area, Q began looking around for the blue-eyed agent. Moneypenny should have notified Bond that he needed to meet his Quartermaster at the airport. Not seeing Bond amid the crowd, Q moved off to one side and started to pull out his mobile, when a bit of movement caught his eye. Lifting his head up, Q saw him. Leaning against a pillar, half hidden in shadow was James Bond. 007 straightened up and sauntered over to the younger man.

“Evening, Q. Long flight?” Bond drawled. His ice blue eyes scanned the brunette from the tips of his trainers to his messy, curly hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think? Q and Bond are finally in the same space! Next chapter will see Q making some _interesting_ discoveries. Also, Q has a mini freakout over sharing a hotel room with a certain sexy Double-O. ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond and Q head to the hotel. Bond reveals some of the strange going-ons he's seen.

“Richard, as far as I’m concerned every flight is a long one,” Q returned, using Bond’s alias. “Now, may we continue to the hotel? We have catching up to do and this is not the place to do it.”

Bond, deciding not to push Q’s temper any farther, inclined his head and began to lead the way to his car. Q followed, wishing he could knock the smirk off of the agent’s face. He knew he was travel-mussed, rumpled, and irritable - the headache that had manifested halfway through his flight wasn’t showing any signs of fading. His, admittedly unwarranted, annoyance at how collected and stylish Bond managed to appear, even without one of his bespoke suits, wasn’t helping. Bond was currently sporting a pair of dark-wash jeans, light blue henley, broken-in leather jacket, and black leather boots. They walked in silence, neither of them being talkative and what they did need to discuss was best done away from any possible prying ears. Once the pair reached Bond’s Renault Duster, Q stowed his bags and climbed into the front passenger seat. Bond got into the driver’s seat and started the car. “So, Quillon St.John-Smythe?”

Q could see the amusement in 007’s eyes, “For the duration of this trip, yes. You’re still not cleared to know my actual name.” Q retorted in clipped tones. “If you don’t have anything constructive to say, 007, please be quiet.” 

With that, Bond and Q drove though Sofia’s twisting streets to the hotel in silence. The hotel was located on a calm side street relatively close to the city center. While it wasn’t a luxury five-star hotel such as Bond had enjoyed on other assignments, it was by no means a roach motel, either. Once parked, Q allowed Bond to take the bag containing his tech while he kept his personal suitcase. The agent led the way up to their room on the fourth floor. Bond cautiously opened the door and made sure there weren’t any unwanted visitors inside. Once 007 had moved fully into the room, Q entered and firmly shut the door behind him. The Quartermaster was relieved to see a pair of twin beds in the room; this not being Bond’s original hotel room, Q hadn’t been able to recall what sort of room MI6 had reserved. The only thing that could have made this assignment worse was having to share a bed with the blond menace.

Q noted that Bond had claimed the bed nearer to the door and moved to place his suitcase on the other. Turning to face the older man, he said, “Bond, if you’d give me the paracetamol that’s in the small outer pocket? I need that and about ten minutes in the loo before we can debrief. Put that bag on the desk.”

The agent quickly fished out the bottle of paracetamol and handed it to Q as he walked past on his way to the bathroom. He placed the equipment bag on the small desk and moved to sit in a nearby armchair, leaving the desk’s chair for the boffin.

“I’ll order us some room service while you refresh, then?” Bond asked, a touch sardonically.

“That would be lovely, ta.” Q replied, deliberately ignoring the sarcasm. The young programmer entered the bathroom, where he relieved himself, washed his hands and face, swallowed a couple of paracetamol tablets, and attempted to tame his hair. Nerves settled as much as possible, Q left the bathroom and walked over to the desk. He then opened the equipment bag and removed his laptop; the chief boffin busied himself turning it on and making certain that the internet connection was secure, all the while aware of Bond’s gaze.

“Right,” said Q, turning his attention to the Double-O, “You know that M sent me because of evidence that Dimitrov has access to experimental technology. Is there anything that you didn’t include in your updates? Things that seemed too strange or unbelievable?”

Bond cocked his head and shifted in his seat, considering Q’s questions. Blue eyes bright, 007 answered, “I have noticed some rather odd things over the last week. I didn’t include them in my reports because…”

“Because you didn’t want M or anyone else to wonder if you’ve over indulged or had some sort of mental breakdown,” Q finished for him. Bond nodded slowly. “Well, allow me to reassure you, 007. There’s been enough unusual things in the earlier reports, plus what you have reported, to let me seriously listen to just about anything you might have to add.”

Bond opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. The agent stood, motioned for the boffin to stay seated, and walked to the door with one hand reaching for the Walther under his jacket. He peered through the door’s eyehole and saw it was a hotel staff member with their room service. 

Bond opened the door and stood aside enough to allow the staffer into the room without ever taking his eyes off the man. The assassin told him to leave the tray on the side table and gave him a decent, but unremarkable, tip. Q, who had minimized his computer windows at Bond opening the door, watched the exchange. Enough MI6 agents and enemies had employed this tactic that he did not relax until Bond had shut the door behind the server.

“So you did order something,” Q remarked, standing up to get a better look at the plates, two were  [ kebapche ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kebapche) with side salads while the third contained a selection of baklava. There was also a pitcher of ice water and two glasses; Bond had correctly assumed that Q would want to keep a clear head. Q was certain that any alcohol at the moment would send him straight to sleep. He closed the laptop, pushing it off to one side, and placed the equipment bag underneath the desk. 

Q gratefully accepted the plate and glass Bond passed him and dug into the food. He’d not realized how hungry he was until his first bite. He ate until the plate was almost entirely bare. Q finally looked up and noticed the amused light in Bond’s eyes. “Something funny, 007?” he asked, sharply.

Bond, ignoring Q’s tone, answered, “You. I wasn’t sure that you were ever going to come up for air.”

Seeing Q’s glare, 007 held up his hands, placatingly. “Easy, Quillon, I wasn’t trying to insult you. I’m just remarking on how much you were enjoying the food.” Bond held out the plate of baklava to Q, possibly as a peace offering. Q’s glare went from ‘incerate’ to ‘singe’ as he took a pastry. He took a bite and closed his eyes, savoring the honey, nuts, and spices sandwiched between flaky phyllo.

“As I was saying earlier, Bond, what do you have to add to your reports?” Q asked, watching the blue-eyed spy. Bond busied himself by studying the remaining pieces of baklava before selecting one.

“I was tailing one of Dimitrov’s men, Isaacson, through one of the city’s markets when he turned down a narrow alley. Isaacson wasn’t out of my sight for more than a minute, Q, but he was gone by the time I turned into the alley. That alley is a dead-end and hasn’t any fire escapes. I suppose he could’ve had a key to one of the doors that line it, but I didn’t hear one open or close. It’s as though he disappeared into thin air.” Bond stood and moved to the window, where he braced his forearm against the glass and stared out into the night. He continued, “At the warehouse on Friday, before I was attacked, I swear I heard animal noises, but they were unlike any I’ve heard. And at one warehouse that the targets had deserted there were scorch marks on the walls that seemed to shimmer.”

Q, hiding the prickling sense of unease that had started creeping up his neck at Bond’s recitation, replied, “If you can give me the time and location of where you lost Isaacson, I’ll try to find CCTV footage, see if we can’t shed light on his disappearing act. I’d also like to see the warehouses myself, at least the abandoned one and get samples from those scorch marks. I’ve also,” here Q’s words were interrupted by a large yawn, “brought some more sophisticated surveillance equipment that I’d like to deploy around Friday’s warehouse or wherever you think they’d be most useful.”

“As much as I would like to keep planning, Quillon, I think that we’d be better served by getting some sleep. We’ve both had fairly long days and things aren’t developing so quickly that we can’t afford to rest. You may have the bathroom first, if you like.” Bond returned.

Q looked as though he was going to argue, but thought better of it. He stood and said, “You’re right, Bond, some sleep is what we both need. I plan on deferring to your greater field experience.”

With that, the slender young man walked over to his suitcase and opened it. From his seat, Bond could see neatly packed clothes and accessories. Q removed a set of sapphire blue pyjamas and his toiletries kit from it. “I will take you up on your offer of the bathroom, thank you.”

Bond watched Q walk into the bathroom and shut the door before rising from his chair; he’d make use of the privacy provided and change into his nightclothes as well. The agent wasn’t body modest at all but he didn’t want to add to Q’s discomfort. The Quartermaster hid it well, but Bond could tell that he wasn’t pleased to be in the field. The information Moneypenny had sent over had indicated that M had only made the decision to send Q that morning. Given Q’s level of meticulousness, the lack of time to prepare must have grated on his nerves. Add that to Q’s strong dislike of flying, it wasn’t any great surprise that he’d been a touch stroppy that evening. 

Bond was just pulling on the white t-shirt that he was wearing with his sleep pants when the bathroom door opened. Q emerged, hair even more touselled than before. He seemed surprised to see the agent in t-shirt and pyjama bottoms instead of his preferred pants.

“I’m not looking to make this any more difficult for you than necessary. I may argue with you over how to handle the mission, but I won’t antagonize you either.” Bond said softly. Q blushed at those words and looked into Bond’s eyes. 

“I...thank you,” Q murmured, “I wasn’t planning on being in the field, particularly not on less than a day’s notice.” He walked around Bond to his bed, closed his suitcase, and placed it on the floor before turning back the covers. Bond went into the bathroom for his turn; after he had finished, he turned off the lights in the room and climbed into his bed.

As Bond lay in bed, waiting for sleep to claim him, he reflected that it was a good thing he hadn’t informed Q of his own misgivings of the boffin’s suitability for the field. He’d been surprised when Moneypenny had informed him that the Quartermaster would be joining him in the field. Bond wasn’t surprised that M was sending additional field support, but M’s choice of personnel had been. As far as he knew, Q had never been in the field and Bond hoped that Q would live up to his earlier promise.

The blue-eyed man also mulled over the unusual things he’d witnessed on this mission. There were other instances that he’d not informed Q of. Bond had been observing two members of Dimitrov’s organization and watched one them hand over photos. What had initially caught his attention was that the photos were in black and white. On a closer look, Bond would have sworn that the contents of the photos were  _ moving _ . He’d dismissed it at the time as a combination of tiredness and the way the photos were handled. There was also the time he’d overheard a conversation about payments with the words ‘feniski’ and ‘sŭlzi’ peppered throughout. He assumed that they were code words for a currency, but why bother? The rest of the conversation hadn’t been cryptic, for all that his Bulgarian was a bit rusty. Bond had also seen Isaacson show another Dimitrov agent what had appeared to be a box of ice-encrusted, glowing embers. The spy was sure what it all added up to, including what he’d told Q, but something strange was going on. Bond rolled over, listening to Q’s wuffling snores, and willed himself to sleep. Hopefully, with Q here, they’d get some answers to these strange events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a Renault Duster isn't a very sexy car, but it's a British model that's popular in Bulgaria and more suited to Bond's cover persona than a sexy sports car.  
> Bond's look in the chapter is inspired by:  
>   
> Also, more actual magic in the next chapter, promise!

**Author's Note:**

> My first entry into the fandom! I hope everyone enjoys it.  
> Quick note on Q's cats:  
> Alan is named for Alan Turing, but he's certainly not a feline genius. He's a big ginger mush. Rowena (or Ro) is named for Rowena Ravenclaw. Ro is a queenly blue-eyed black cat.


End file.
